I've read you shouldn't Google yourself. But it's an odd moment when you wonder if other people are Googling you.
Recently, I've found myself in contact with a few people who, as a novelist, I'd really love to be, you know, talking books. My books. Other books. Books.
That wasn't why we were speaking, however, and it would have been poor form for me to sort of slip in that I had a book out there in the world and, hey, can't we talk about this for a bit?
Yes, I know I should be self-promoting at every turn. Every turn. And when that door opens, I leap right the hell through. Oh yes. I'll mention The Seven Markets and we'll talk briefly about some aspect of the book or other (I find people in the publishing business are endlessly fascinated by someone like me, out here digging the foundation for my own house on my hands and knees), and it's fine.
But what then? And by "what then?" I mean, "what do they do next?"
Is it all right to assume someone you've spoken to about your book has spent the 0.5 seconds it takes to learn everything there is about everyone in the world? When I have a business meeting with someone, I Google them. I look them up on LinkedIn.
That's what you do, right?
You look them up.
Partially to see if you're wasting your time. Partially out of curiosity.
And partially -- yes -- to see if the person you just met, that author who you could tell just wanted to go on and on and on about their book, but was clearly restraining themselves with every ounce of strength they had, to see if they really did put a book out.
How's it doing? Any reviews? Is it possible it's any good?
It's an odd thing, I'll tell you. Googling yourself is no big deal (there are ten pages of David Hoffmans before my first mention). It's when other people do it that things get weird.